


Heya Baby

by SaltAndBurn (AlyssiaInWonderland)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Crack, Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other, POV Sam Winchester, This is pure crack, Witch Curses, i wrote this for me and one single other person who requested it, no seriously this is purely for the sake of humour, there is no use or purpose to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 09:25:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19002967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssiaInWonderland/pseuds/SaltAndBurn
Summary: Dean get's cursed, the Impala comes to life, and true love (and Sam's research skills) save the day. Kind of.Essentially, just some Dean/Baby ridiculousness with a very thin excuse for turning Baby human! Don't @ me. We all know it's hilarious and basically canon, right?!





	Heya Baby

It’s always the milk runs that turn sour.

“Dean!” Sam watches helplessly as Dean’s thrown across the room, his knife clattering to the concrete near Sam.

He redoubles his efforts to escape his bonds, straining against the thick, but old, rope. It’s slightly rotted, and he leans forward to add to the tension, keeping one eye on Dean’s prone form. He thinks he can see a trickle of blood from his temple. Worry rises up as the witch turns back to him, and he feels an invisible hand grip his throat.

Sam thrashes against the force, but it’s too strong. The analogue to demonic powers isn’t lost on him. His vision starts turning grey and spotted, and he barely sees Dean stumbling to his feet. He uses the little energy he has left to yank his arms free, and send the knife spinning to his brother.

Then the hazy shape that is Dean eclipses the shadow over him, and he feels something warm spatter over his shirt. He’s preoccupied for a moment by the release of pressure on his throat. He heaves in jagged breaths, sharp and painful, but blessedly full of oxygen.

“Sammy! Hey, man, talk to me.” Sam feels Dean’s hand lightly slap the side of his face, and his vision springs back into focus.

“I’m fine.” Sam reaches up his hands to Dean’s wrists, in a motion that’s either a comforting pat or an annoyed bat - he’s not sure which himself. His lips feel too numb to form words. “Jesus, Dean. Your head-”   
  
“Scalp wounds bleed a lot, you know that.” Dean rolls his eyes, clearly relieved Sam’s checking in fully.

“I curse you!” Sam lets his gaze slide past Dean’s turned head, onto the witch bleeding out on the floor. She’s pointing at Dean. “Winchester,” She spits, angrily. “I curse your true love to take new form, to seek you out and be unable to return to it’s true form until the curse is broken!”

Dean stands, and leans down, twists the knife in her chest.

“Joke’s on you, bitch. Ain’t got a true love.” He sounds dull. The kind of dull Sam privately calls the ‘repressed heartbreak’ tone.

“Oh, but you do.” The witch’s breath rattles, and stops.

“What the hell? Weird ass curse to lay, don’t you think, Sammy?” Dean offers a hand, and Sam takes it. Dean seems nonchalant, but Sam’s pretty sure he’s unsettled underneath.

“Don’t ask me, man.” Sam winces at how hoarse his voice sounds. “I’ve been steering clear of the concept of true love since we learned Cupids exist.”

“Don’t remind me.” Dean shudders, dramatically. “I’ve seen way too much of Cupid’s ass. Literally.”

As they make their way out, Sam feels his airways begin to recover. There’ll be bruising, but enough sons of bitches go for his throat he’s practically used to it by now. And isn’t that a sad thought.

He’s broken out of his reverie not by the cool air of the parking lot, but by the way Dean stops so suddenly Sam walks right into him.

“What the fu-”   
  
“Where’s Baby?”

“What?” Sam blinks, scans the parking lot. 

“Where the fuck is my car?” Dean looks like he’s about to plunge directly into a panic attack, or possible murder person after person until he finds the Impala.

“Are you sure we parked it here?” Sam asks, trying to be patient.

“Am I - Sam, I think I know where I parked my fucking car!” Dean snaps. He’s running his hands through his hair, spiking it up messily, like he does when he’s not sure how to vent his frustration and fear.

“It’s okay, man, calm down, we can figure this -”   
  
“Sammy, I swear to God if you’ve done something I will freaking end you!” Dean’s glaring so hard Sam’s worried he’ll drop dead by accident.

“Dude, I’m not stupid, I wouldn’t mess with your car! Jesus, you’re like an overprotective boyfriend!” Sam’s mouth runs away with him, but he’s saved from the flashing ire in Dean’s eyes by someone clearing their throat behind him.

“Excuse me,” The voice is deep, rich, with a subtle gravel like a rumble-strip on a road. “I think I might be able to help you.”

Sam turns, takes a step back, subconsciously preparing for danger. Sneaking up behind a hunter? Not a good plan. The man behind him doesn’t seem to be a threat, though. He’s smiling, for one. He’s tall - taller than Sam - and he’s dressed head to toe in black leather and silk. Smooth, carefully shined boots, sleek leather trousers, a satin-silk shirt with expensive silver cufflinks - and a streamlined leather jacket that screams elegance and power.

“Unless you saw who jacked my ride, you ain’t gonna be much help.” Dean says, still faced away from the man.

“Dean, dude, I really think you should-” Sam isn’t the type to wax lyrical about anyone’s appearance. He feels like generally, his crushes are prosaic. His romance is reserved for monsters and stories; dusk on the road and moonlight glinting off the Impala. He finds beauty in the abstract. And yet -

The black and silver look stunning on the man’s rich, deep black skin. His eyes look like he’s laughing at them, which Sam really thinks is fair, though he’s not sure why. His eyelashes are long enough they nearly brush his cheekbones. Sam doesn’t crush on people instantly. He doesn't. But this man is objectively beautiful, and it’s throwing him off. The fact he’s more than a hair taller doesn’t help.

“It’s alright,” The man’s smile is dazzling. “He’s just worried. I would be.”

“You said you could help?” Sam asks, trying to communicate urgency through glaring at Dean’s back.

“I’m afraid my story is a little hard to believe.” His smile turns self-deprecating, and he dips his head, runs his hands through his close-cropped curls.

“Trust me,” Sam says. “We’ll believe one hell of a lot. Dean, I don’t think the car has turned invisible. How about you pay some attention to the human beings over here?” Sam waves at Dean impatiently, and does his best to ignore the gorgeous man’s soft laughter at his words.

Finally getting Dean’s attention means he gets a full view of his expression when he turns to look at them. This is, without question, one of the best and worst outcomes imaginable.

Dean’s eyes skim right over Sam, and fix direct to the man next to him. His eyes go wide, his lips part just a little, and Sam can physically hear the stunned huff of breath as Dean’s eyes move up, from boots to eyes, and then linger, trapped in a feedback loop that has him looking like a rabbit in headlights.

“H-ey - Sam? Is this - he’s the - what?” Dean’s stumbling over his words, hard. Sam would laugh if he couldn’t empathise.

“Hello, Dean.” The man grins, lighting up his whole face, as he nods. “It’s wonderful to meet you in person.”

“Wait - what do you mean, in person?” Sam’s danger sensors start up again. Something is off - he has no idea what, but the phrasing was off.

“Hi.” Dean breathes, five steps behind the action. Then he frowns. “Hey, man, what about my car?”

Sam does his best not to snort. Of course the only thing that could possibly cut Dean out of his semi-fugue state would be the Impala.

“I am your car.” The man flicks his eyes over to Sam. “I did say it would be hard to believe.”

“Wait, what?” Dean’s about as confused as Sam is, right now.

“I was in the space you parked me in, just enjoying the sun, while you two were hunting that witch you were talking about, when bam! Car no more.” He shrugged. “Oh - and for the record, the weird stuff always happens when you call a job easy, so maybe cool it with the snark?” Baby added, pointedly.

“You’re Baby?” Dean’s voice sounded unusually high.

“Oh my God.” Sam blurts out the words, because he’s just had a goddamn epiphany and he needs to share it right the hell now.

“What?” Dean and Baby turn to him in unison - already somehow in perfect sync, like always.

“Oh my God, Dean.” He says, urgently. “The curse! The witch’s curse!”

“What about it?” Dean’s blinking at him stupidly, and Sam wants to laugh hysterically, but it has to wait until he’s got his ridiculous older brother to catch the bombshell he’s dropping.

“Your car changed form and sought you out. The curse! Dude, your true love is your fucking car!” Sam’s shrieking, but he can’t help it. The laughter chokes any more words he might have expressed.

Dean’s half-terrified, half-admiring glance up at Baby just adds to the hilarity.

“Well, shit.”

* * *

After Sam’s done laughing, and they got a lift to the bunker, Sam buries himself in research.

Baby and Dean are locked in some kind of holding pattern, where Baby smiles, and Dean smiles breathlessly in return, and Baby smiles laughingly at Dean’s eager attempts to help, like providing a beer, or trying to teach him how to cook dinner. Once Dean sees that he made Baby happy, he gets even more buzzed and the cycle seems, so far, to be never-ending. Frankly, Sam’s a little concerned about where it would even end up, so as long as they’re keeping it PG and don’t burn all the food in the kitchen, he’s easy.

He studiously keeps his eyes off the softcore porn in the kitchen. Dean’s got the oven on for a roast, and Baby has decided this makes it hot enough to strip off his shirt, while Dean’s eyeing up all the muscle like he wants to- Sam coughs. His eyes are burning with the after-images of the white background on his laptop. When he looks up again, to see Dean wrapping his arm around Baby’s like that somehow helps to explain anything, he snaps.

Oh my god,” He slams a book down on the table loud enough to startle them, and he takes mildly vindictive satisfaction in the fact that Dean’s now wedged between Baby and the countertop. That can’t be comfortable. “Get a room, you two, or quit with the eye-fucking!”

He doesn’t know what he expected from his outburst, but it sure as hell wasn’t Dean continuing to stare at baby.

And then sigh, and lick his lips, at the chest at his eye level.

And then-

“‘Kay.”

“What.” Sam watches, blankly, as Dean bites his lip, and wraps a hand around Baby’s wrist. Dean tugs at Baby’s arm, and neither of them move.

“We’re bothering you. You know how to handle an oven, don’t you?” He’s barely flicked a glance at Sam before he’s back to staring into Baby’s eyes. “I can show you around the bunker, Baby.”

“Alright. Give me a tour, Dean.” Baby relents, and Dean leads him by the wrist, out of the shared kitchen space.

Sam swallows hard, and pretends he did not hear the layer of innuendo behind the interaction. 

* * *

Five minutes later, he comes across a text that he recognises as something from the witch’s bookshelf. It’s a bizarre mingling of occult power and fairytales, as most true-love based curses are.

Of fucking course.

The cure to the spell is true love’s kiss. Has to be! And, he supposes, at least that won’t seem too detestable to Dean, or Baby, if he’s any judge. He just has to-

“What the fu-”   
  
Sam hears Dean’s shout, and an extremely loud crash.

He rockets up from his seat, papers and books flying in his wake as he sprints towards the noise.

He bursts through the door to Dean’s room, and skids to a horrified halt.

Dean’s pressed against the wall, a shell-shocked expression on his face. He’s shirtless, his hair a mess, jeans are half-unzipped, and the Impala is sitting in it’s mechanical glory, crushing the majority of his bed.

“Sammy, I-” Dean begins, shakily.

“No.” Sam holds up a hand.

“Listen, it’s not what it looks like, I swear, we were just-”   
  
“Nope.”

“We were just-”

“Nope. No way. I don’t want to hear it.” Sam kind of wants to scream. Or possibly faint. He’s not entirely sure.

“Look, we-”   
  
“Dean!” He half-shouts, and finally, Dean shuts his mouth. “True love’s kiss breaks the spell.”   
  
“Oh.” Dean visibly deflates.

“Yeah.” Sam says, grimly.

“So.” Dean coughs, and awkwardly re-zips his jeans. “Sorted that curse. Take that, witch!” He laughs, uncomfortably. “Totally knew, the whole time. That’s what this was.”

“Sure, Dean.” Sam is uncharitably pleased that Dean nearly falls over twice while trying to extricate himself from his position wedged between car and wall.

To this day, he is convinced that it’s the demon-blood in him that makes him continue the way he does.

“You know what, it’s okay, Dean. Really. I get it.” He says, consolingly.

“Really?” Dean looks up at him, hopefully. Smiling his patented ‘forgive-me-now’ grin.

“Yes, really. I’ll just leave you to clean up. Put on a shirt, get foundation on those uh... _ bruises _ . You know. Get the car in the garage, and all that.” Sam backs out of the room, and waits, just around the corner, for the penny to drop.

“How the  _ fuck _ am I gonna get Baby out of this room?”

Sam can’t conceal the loud snort of laughter.

“Son of a bitch!”

Sam darts down the hallway, to avoid the shirtless, enraged Dean chasing him.

“I hate you, Sam!” He yells.

“It’s not my fault you snogged the car, Dean!” Sam yells back, cackling as he takes the stairs two at a time.

He guesses that even bullshit sour milk runs have their upsides.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! And that it was amusing.
> 
> As ever, comments and kudos brighten my day and feed my dark soul! <3


End file.
